After years of high speed traveling on the Infertility-train we've finally arrived at the "Life after" station. We briefly hopped back on the train for our first and last FET, and against all odds I am now the mother of not one, not two but THREE children! Who'd have ever thought that a couple of years ago? Not me, that's for sure...

Monday, July 25, 2011

I don't get why anyone would impersonate a cop to be able to gather as many CHILDREN as possible around him. So he can easily SHOOT every single one of them. To then walk around and shoot them all AGAIN to make sure they are really dead and not just pretending. To then start walking around searching for anyone else alive. So he can keep going. And going. And going.

Why that someone would surrender as soon as the real cops come. Would willingly confess to his hideous crime. And would go on to say that what he did was terrible, but that he doesn't think he should be punished for it.

This was not an act of someone who was desperate, someone who didn't know what he was doing. Not an act of desperation by a confused teenager bringing a gun to school. Or a sudden burst of anger by someone who's lost his way and thinks he will never be able to find it again.

This was well thought through. Planned until the very last second. 'Doelbewust'. And very, very sick.

Just thinking of all those young people, a lot of them still children, and what they had to go through before they died (or by some miracle made it out alive) makes me physically ill.

Thinking of their parents at home, having just send their loved one off to youth camp, a place where they undoubtedly felt their child would be safe regardless of the political nature of the event.

When that bomb went off in Oslo they probably thought: "Thank God my child is safely tucked away on that island. Thank God my child wasn't where that bomb was!"

Oh, how they were wrong.

How will those parents, those brothers and sisters, those children who did get safely off the island, how will they ever be able to live with what they have gone through? What they are still going through? What they will be going through for the rest of their lives? How will they be able to keep going? How will they live with those images burned into their brains?